Finally, he went into a dive, his palm closing around the ball.
The entire process took less than forty seconds.
Cheers erupted from the stands.
Fred and George whistled from the air.
“The boy certainly has talent,” Professor McGonagall’s voice came from the side, carrying a hint of poorly concealed pride.
“It is more than just talent,” Artoria said.
Both Zhang Wen and McGonagall turned toward her.
“His judgment during flight far exceeds that of his peers.” Artoria’s eyes followed Harry in the sky.
“He isn’t just chasing the ball; he is anticipating its trajectory.
His body reaches every turning point before the ball does.”
McGonagall looked at Artoria, her gaze softening into one of respect.
“Miss Pendragon, you have quite an eye for competitive athletics.”
“The essence of the battlefield and the arena is the same,” Artoria said.
“Only the rules differ.”
McGonagall seemed like she wanted to ask more, but she ultimately just nodded.
***
After the practice ended, the students began heading back to the changing rooms.
Zhang Wen and Artoria prepared to leave the stands, but they were drawn by the sound of an argument.
At the entrance to the pitch, the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams had crossed paths.
Malfoy stood at the front of the Slytherin group.
Behind him, every team member was holding a brand-new broom—the Nimbus 2001, the latest model, with silver lettering printed on the sleek black handles.
“The Malfoy family sponsored new brooms for the whole team,” Ron’s voice came from the Gryffindor group, sounding sour.
“Jealous, Weasley?” Malfoy tilted his chin up.
“You probably have trouble even getting off the ground with that broom your family uses—”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, stepping in front of Ron.
“Oh, Potter.” Malfoy’s eyes swept over the Nimbus 2000 in Harry’s hand.
“That relic belongs in a museum.
By the time the game starts, you won’t even see my tail lights.”
“Winning a game isn’t about the broom,” Hermione said, stepping out from the crowd.
She was clutching a stack of books—she had likely been drawn over on her way to the library.
Malfoy turned his gaze toward her.
Zhang Wen saw Malfoy’s mouth open and knew exactly what he was about to say.
In the original story, Malfoy used that word in this scene—”Mudblood.”
The derogatory slur for Muggle-born wizards.
Zhang Wen stood up in the stands.
“Mr.
Malfoy.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but everyone on the pitch heard him.
Malfoy’s mouth froze half-open, the word unsaid.
He looked up toward the stands.
Zhang Wen stood there, his expression calm.
“The tryouts are over.
Everyone return to your respective houses,” he said.
“If you wish to argue here, I can arrange to deduct twenty points from each side.”
The Gryffindors shut their mouths immediately—they couldn’t afford to lose points for the House Cup.
The Slytherins looked at Malfoy.
Malfoy bit his lip and swallowed the words he had been about to spit out.
“Let’s go,” he said to his teammates, turning to leave.
The crowd dispersed.
Hermione nodded toward Zhang Wen with a look of gratitude.
She likely didn’t know she had nearly been called a “Mudblood,” but she could feel the tension in the air was wrong.
Harry was the last to leave.
He looked up at Zhang Wen, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
***
On the way back, Artoria said, “You interrupted Malfoy.”
“He was about to say something very nasty,” Zhang Wen said.
“A slur based on bloodline.
If he had said it publicly, the situation would have spiraled completely out of control.
In the original story, Ron tried to curse him for it, but because of his broken wand, the spell backfired and he spent the afternoon vomiting slugs.”
“Slugs?”
“Don’t ask.
It’s disgusting.”
Artoria decided not to press further.
“You changed something,” she said.
“What?”
“The word was not spoken,” Artoria said.
“In the book you described, that word was said and it caused harm.
But today, you prevented it.”
Zhang Wen thought about it.
Yes.
Another Butterfly Effect.
In the original story, the “Mudblood” incident was a landmark conflict in the early part of the second year.
it deepened the rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin and forced Hermione to face the malice of blood prejudice for the first time.
But today, the word hadn’t been spoken.
Malfoy had held it back.
What did that mean?
Perhaps it meant nothing.
Malfoy probably still felt the same way in his heart.
But perhaps—just perhaps—a malice that isn’t voiced is slightly lighter than one that is.
A prejudice interrupted carries less power than one fully expressed.
“Sometimes, stopping a single sentence is enough,” Zhang Wen said.
Artoria didn’t respond.
She walked beside him, her pace matching his exactly.
This was a detail Zhang Wen hadn’t noticed before.
During the Holy Grail War, Artoria had always walked half a step ahead of him—the instinctive position of a Servant protecting their Master, ready to block any incoming threat.
But at some point, she had started walking right beside him.
Not ahead, not behind.
Beside him.
Zhang Wen didn’t say anything.
Some changes didn’t need to be pointed out.
***
Back in his office, Zhang Wen began organizing his progress for the week.
Mirrors—six large mirrors installed.
Will announce the requirement for students to carry small mirrors in class next week.
Need to purchase a large quantity of handheld mirrors; need to calculate the budget.
Roosters—three of them, moved to the storage room on the fourth floor.
A house-elf is responsible for feeding them daily.
Hagrid doesn’t know the real reason; he thinks they’re for teaching purposes.
Ginny—Hermione has initiated contact.
Progress needs to be observed next week.
Neville—Artoria’s individual training continues.
Reportedly, he has improved from dodging one out of thirty stones to three out of twenty.
Significant progress.
Trio’s after-school tutoring—Harry’s Disarming Charm accuracy is nearing combat level.
Ron has shown marked improvement with the help of his new wand.
Hermione is attempting to “cast without thinking”—success rate currently around thirty percent.
Awaiting response.
Malfoy—keep observing.
Lucius’s second letter hasn’t arrived yet; he might be brewing something bigger.
Zhang Wen closed his notebook and rubbed his eyes.
Adding all these things together, the workload had far exceeded the range of a normal professor.
He taught classes during the day, graded homework, provided tutoring, and then spent his nights hanging mirrors, patrolling, and preparing defenses for the Chamber of Secrets.
He began to understand why the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors only lasted a year.
It wasn’t just the curse.
It was pure exhaustion.
“It’s time for dinner,” Artoria appeared punctually at the door.
Zhang Wen glanced out the window; it was nearly dark.
“What’s on the menu today?”
“Fish and chips and roasted kidney.”
“Have you established a daily intelligence exchange with the house-elves in the kitchen?”
“It is merely a standard inquiry.”
“Every day?”
“The intake plan requires advance knowledge.”
Zhang Wen stood up and followed her toward the Great Hall.
“By the way,” he suddenly remembered, “I plan to talk to Ginny on Monday.
Nothing formal, just a casual chat in the corridor to check her status.”
Artoria nodded.
“I will accompany you.”
“No need, she’ll get nervous if you’re there.
Your aura is a bit too strong for a first-year girl.”
Artoria considered this.
“I can stand a bit further away.”
“That’s called surveillance, not accompanying.”
“Is there a difference?”
“…In the social rules of normal people, yes.”
Artoria didn’t quite agree, but she didn’t insist.
“If you judge her condition to be abnormal, tell me immediately.”
“Of course.”
The two of them entered the Great Hall.
The atmosphere at dinner was livelier than usual.
Likely due to the Quidditch tryouts, tables from every house were discussing the relative strengths of this year’s teams.
At the Gryffindor table, Wood was laying out training schedules for the team while Fred and George mimicked his voice, making Katie and Angelina laugh uncontrollably.
Harry sat nearby with a relaxed smile.
At the Slytherin table, Malfoy was showing off his Nimbus 2001.
But Zhang Wen noticed he was no longer just showing off to Crabbe and Goyle—he was surrounded by a group of second and third-year Slytherins.
Was he expanding his social circle?
Or consolidating his status?
Probably both.
In a corner of the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley sat with her head down, eating.
But today was different from last week.
Someone was sitting next to her.
Hermione.
Hermione was talking to Ginny while she ate.
Ginny’s expression was still a bit restrained, but she was nodding and occasionally offering a soft reply.
Zhang Wen breathed a small sigh of relief.
Hermione’s efficiency was as terrifying as ever.
“Hermione is already making her move,” he whispered to Artoria.
Artoria glanced at the Gryffindor table and nodded.
“Step one complete,” she said.
Then, she picked up her knife and fork.
The priority of fish and chips was clearly higher than tactical assessment.